


lean on me now

by Areiton



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-10-08 12:57:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He’s so tired, and he hurts, the kind of screaming pain he’s struggling to ignore now, and he wants to go home.But he can do this. He can sit and watch, and keep them safe.A wry smile tugs at his lips because he knows how ridiculous that sounds--a kid keeping Avengers safe





	1. Chapter 1

 

Later, May will ask.  

So will Mr. Stark. 

And Peter won’t have an answer because the solid truth of it is--he has no idea how he gets home. 

It all happens fast--not the fight. That feels like it lasts a lifetime, every blow aching even before he takes the next one. Adrenaline gets him through it, that and wanting to impress Mr. Stark, wanting to  _ show him _ that his faith in Peter was deserved. 

But after--that was a blur of noise and pain and mind-numbing weariness. 

Everything after the fight at the airport, after Mr. Stark shows up at their tiny apartment and throws everything into the light is a blur. He can pick out pieces--Mr. Stark’s smile, cocky and bright; putting on his suit for the first time; the irritated fondness in Mr. Stark’s voice as they fought Captain America and his team. 

The hot touch of Ironman’s hand, pressing him back into the ground before he flew away. 

Bits and pieces of startling bright memories, like glitter stuck to a blur of pavement. 

But getting  _ home _ is...not something he thinks about. 

All he knows for  _ sure _ is that he’s in a hospital in Germany, when he sees Mr. Stark again. 

~*~ 

“What are you doing here?” 

Peter blinks up at Mr. Stark, too exhausted to scramble to his feet and says, “They didn't know what to do with me.” 

He doesn't add that he doesn't know what to do with himself. That in this big hospital, he feels lost and he hates it, because the last time he was in a hospital, he was waiting to find out if Uncle Ben would live or not. 

“They were trying to figure it out, but,” he shrugs, words trailing into nothing and Mr Stark finally blinks. 

“Home. I need--” 

Peter jerks up and catches his arm before he can start away, “No! I'm ok. Don't--we have to go back, when they stabilize Colonel Rhodes. I can wait.” 

Mr. Stark flinches at his best friend's name, and Peter frowns, looking down. He knew he shouldn't have brought it up--Mr. Stark didn't want any reminders right now, and he certainly didnt need to worry about some kid who couldn't even do his job right. 

“I can wait,” he says again and Mr. Stark opens his mouth-- 

A doctor appears in the doorway and Mr. Stark turns away. 

Peter closes his eyes and slumps back into his chair, forgotten once again. 

Remembering the worry and fear in Mr. Stark's eyes, he doesn't worry as much about being left behind. 

~*~ 

The phone ringing in his ear sounds tiny and distant and he closes his eyes, leans his head against the cool glass of the window. Behind him, he can hear the slow steady beeping of Colonel Rhodes’ machines. He'd ended up here, in this quiet room because no one seemed to remember him, or consider what to do with him. 

“ _ Hello?” _

He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut against the threat of tears as Aunt May's voice floods down the line. “H-hey, Aunt May,” he chokes out. 

“Peter! How are you, honey?” 

He smiles, even as tears tremble down his cheeks. “I'm ok. Just missed you. Tell me how things are?”

She laughs, a teasing familiar noise and chatters about work and the couple two floors down who got into a fight and busted a waterline, about Ned coming by with an amused, “I think he misses you more than I do.” 

Peter laughs, but mostly he's quiet, listening and letting the familiar rhythm of his aunt's voice, the happy tired joy settle him. 

“Are you coming home yet?” 

Peter closes his eyes. “Not quite. We--Mr Stark had to leave and I'm just...waiting.” 

She hums, a quiet displeased noise and he sighs. 

That at least is true. 

~*~ 

He finds Tony in Colonel Rhodes room. The room is dark, only one small light above the Colonel's bed and it leaves both him and Mr. Stark washed in shadows. 

He creeps in and curls up on the spare chair, a hard, unforgiving thing and he sighs as he lowers his head to his arms. 

There isn't much he can do--there is too much chaos and outrage over the Captain and his rogues, too much fury over the destruction at the airport for anything to actually be happening, and Peter knows--it'll end. This busy in-between will end and something  _ worse  _ will take it's place. 

But for now, it's quiet in this room, even Ross’ fury held back by the shattered Colonel, and Mr. Stark is sleeping, dark circles under his eyes and some of the itchy  _ useless _ feeling that’s been building under his skin settles, as he sits there, watching them sleep. 

He’s so tired, and he hurts, the kind of screaming pain he’s struggling to ignore now, and he wants to go  _ home. _

But he can do this. He can sit and watch, and keep them safe. 

A wry smile tugs at his lips because he  _ knows _ how ridiculous that sounds--a kid keeping Avengers safe. 

But Mr. Stark thought he could. Thought he was worth time and effort and Peter thinks that has to count for something. 

He hugs his knees closer and watches the steady rising of their chests and the shadows on the windows and he waits. 


	2. Chapter 2

They fly home that night. Mr Stark is preoccupied with the doctors, hovering over Colonel Rhodes, but at some point over England, he had looked up and seen Peter, wavering on his feet against a nearby wall, and his eyes narrowed. “You need sleep,” he said bluntly.

They hadn't talked about the way Mr. Stark had jerked awake in the middle of the night in Colonel Rhodes hospital room, to find Peter staring at him in the dark. Or the way some of the tension had eased out of his shoulders before he twisted a little and closed his eyes to go back to sleep, trusting Peter to keep them safe.

Peter thinks it's better if they don't talk about it.

“I'm ok,” Peter insisted and Mr. Stark snorted, pushing him into a narrow bed near the back of the quinjet. 

“You've done enough, spiderboy. Get some sleep.” 

He didn't mean to sleep, just meant to lay there until Mr. Stark forgot about him, before he went back to watch and help. 

But his eyes drooped closed as soon as Mr. Stark pushed him onto the cot, and his body relaxed, a releasing of tension so sudden and complete that it made his head spin. 

He was asleep before Mr. Stark walked away.

~*~ 

The kid finds him. 

Not surprising--he feels like the kid's superpower is finding him. 

His gut is churning and he can't look away from Rhodey, even though he  _ knows _ time is running out. 

Nat is already gone. She left while Rhodey was still in surgery, and he wanted to hate her for that. 

He doesn't. He thinks it was smart, coldly practical, the way Nat always was. 

The door creaks open and the kid creeps in, so quiet Tony can't actually hear him. 

“He's going to be ok, right, Mr. Stark.”

The kid doesn't make it a question. It takes Tony a second, a long slow second to realize--it's because Peter honestly doesn't question it. 

He glances at the boy, bruises still stark on his face, eyes bright, shoulders stooped and his breath catches. 

Jesus. What the hell was he thinking, bringing the boy into this. 

“You should go home,” he says, instead of answering the question.  

Peter frowns. “But it's not over,” he protests mildly. 

Tony's heart squeezes, and he looks at Rhodey. No easier than looking at the kid, he realizes with a start. “Kid,” he says heavily, “it's never over. That's the secret they don't tell you.”

Peter's frown deepens, but he doesn't say anything else, just curls in the chair tucked in the corner and waits, patiently. 

Tony doesn't let out a sigh of annoyance that he's being ignored. 

He doesn't close his eyes in relief, either. 

He just stares at his best friend and wonders what he'll have to do to the rest of their friends, before this particular round ends. 

~*~ 

When Peter wakes up, the room is empty except for Colonel Rhodes in the big bed. He yawns and stretches a little, biting back his whimper when stretching makes every inch of his body throb with pain. 

He’d forgotten, somehow, while he was sleeping. 

“They check you out?” 

The voice is low and cracked and unfamiliar, and Peter startles until he realizes it’s--”Colonel Rhodes,” he squeaks, standing in a rush and almost tripping over his feet. “You’re awake.” 

The Colonel huffs, and winces. "Yeah--I'm awake. Where are we?" 

"Avengers compound, sir. Do you--Mr. Stark was here, earlier. Do you want me to find him?" 

Colonel Rhodes looks vaguely confused, and then worry slides across his face. "Did we do it? Did we catch them?" 

"We--um. General Ross arrested Falcon and Hawkeye. Scarlet Witch and Ant-man. I don't--No one really told me what happened to them, I'm sorry, sir." 

"But Cap? Did he get away with Bucky?" Colonel Rhodes presses, his voice tight with worry. 

Reluctantly, Peter nods and Colonel Rhodes curses, bangs a fist against the bed. 

"Sir!" Peter cries, "You'll--you'll hurt yourself. Please, sir--," he shifts, looks over his shoulder. 

Why isn't Mr. Stark  _ here _ yet? 

"I'll go find him," he says, and the Colonel laughs. 

"Tony is long gone, kid." 

Peter blinks and then shakes his head. "You're wrong." 

Amused disbelief makes his eyebrows raise. "Am I? FRIDAY," he calls. 

"Colonel, how can I help you?" 

"Where is Tony?" 

"Boss is unavailable, Colonel." 

"Activate Broken Bear protocol," he says, a sour expression on his face. 

"Boss is unavailable, Colonel," FRIDAY repeats back, a bit firmer this time. 

"Thanks, Fri," Colonel Rhodes says and grins at Peter. "See?" 

"I--no?" he says, questioningly. 

Colonel Rhodes laughs, and then winces and Peter jumps. "Oh! Let--stop talking! Stop moving. I'll get the Dr. Cho!" 

"Dr. Cho is en route," that cool voice from nowhere says again, and Peter jumps. 

Colonel Rhodes sighs. "I can't believe Tony did this," he grumbles. 

~*~ 

Dr. Cho spares him a single glance before she goes to work, examining Colonel Rhodes, and Peter sits quietly in the corner, hoping like hell no one orders him away. He’s found that if he stays small and still and quiet, no one notices him enough to figure out what to do with him, and Colonel Rhodes promised him answers after medicine and food. 

So he’s waiting. 

He feels like since Mr. Stark sat on his couch and flirted with his aunt, he’s been doing a lot of waiting. 

Waiting to be told what’s happening, waiting to be called to fight, waiting to be needed, waiting waiting waiting. 

And he knows--he  _ knows _ that Mr. Stark has more important things to deal with than what Peter needs--but he also  _ knows _ Mr. Stark can’t be everywhere, can’t do  _ everything _ . 

So he sits in the corner of the room while Dr. Cho talks to Colonel Rhodes, and listens attentively to her too quiet voice--she doesn’t know he has heightened senses, and he sure as hell isn’t going out of his way to inform her--files it all away to sort through later. 

And then, when she’s gone and Colonel Rhodes lapses into a quiet contemplation, his face almost gray with fatigue and worry, only then does Peter creep from his corner. 

Colonel Rhodes almost looks surprised, like he’d forgotten Peter was there. 

It would bother him more if being forgotten wasn’t so familiar. 

“You said you’re hungry? I’m gonna--I’ll get you some food? And then--” he trails off, face flushing because as much as he is  _ desperate _ for answers--he isn’t sure he should ask for them. 

Colonel Rhodes gives him a wry look. “And then I’ll answer your questions, kid.” 

Peter sighs, “Thanks, Colonel.” 

He gets all the way to the door before the older man calls out after him. “I think it’s probably safe for you to call me Rhodey, son.” 

Peter flushes but nods, and darts out before he can blurt out something completely embarrassing. 


	3. Chapter 3

Peter _likes_ Mr. Rhodey. He’s snarky and grumpy, but Peter thinks that’s probably fair--he’s got a lot that he’s dealing with right now, and if it were Peter in that hospital bed with his best friend halfway around the world without any backup, Peter’d be grumpy too.

Which reminds him that he _is_ worried about Mr. Stark.

“It’s not your fault, kid,” Mr. Rhodey said, after he explained that Mr. Stark had gone after Captain America and the Winter Soldier. “Tony--he wants to fix something and it’s hard to reason with the man when he wants to fix something.” Mr. Rhodey makes a face. “Impossible, maybe.”

Peter doesn’t argue with him--he thinks it’d probably be impolite to argue with a man laying paralyzed in a hospital bed, and Mr. Rhodey has enough to worry about without Peter adding grumpy teen to the list.

But the truth is--Mr. Stark came to him and asked for help.

And now he’s alone, out there chasing down two super soldiers.

“Is Mr. Stark strong,” he asks, when Mr. Rhodey fell silent. “Like Captain America?”

Fear had shadowed the Colonel’s eyes and that right there was answer enough.

~*~

“He’s brilliant,” Mr. Rhodey says, after food and another visit from Dr. Cho and meds that make him _very_ talkative.

“He’s brilliant but he’s a fucking _idiot.”_

Peter bites back the argument that wants to boil up at that--how can he be brilliant _and_ an idiot. “He thinks--his dad was a dick, ok, and he fucked Tony up really good. But Tony thinks it’s everyone. That we’re all just waiting to exit stage left. Idiot. Makes him do shit like this.”

“Like leave to find Captain America by himself?” Peter asks, carefully.

Rhodey’s gaze goes dark and helpless and he nods without opening his mouth.

Peter squeezes his hand. “I can go after him.”

Rhodey blinks at him like he’s insane.

And maybe he is.

The thing is--Peter knows he shouldn’t be here.

He knew that even as Mr. Stark sat in his bedroom in Queens and told him he wanted Peter to go to Berlin with him.

He knew it even as he _agreed._

This world--the Avengers--they aren’t what he is. They aren’t what he _does._ They’re _heroes_ and maybe he could be, one day--but right now, he’s just a kid, a kid in a funny suit trying to do a little bit of good.

And he _knows._

But he knows this too--of all the people in the world, Mr. Stark came to _him._

Mr. Stark trusted _him._

Mr. Stark saw a hero in him, and gave him an amazing suit, and he couldn’t forget that.

He didn’t belong here--but if someone said he did, does that mean he _does?_

“I could,” he insists, like if he puts enough emphasis into it, they'll both believe it.

Rhodey looks at him, all patient disbelief and Peter slowly deflates. “No offense, Peter, but even if I wanted to let you go--Tony would kill me.”

He fidgets and says, shyly, “Can I stay with you, until he comes back?”

Mr. Rhodey’s expression softens a little and he says, “Yeah. Ok. I think that’d be ok.”

~*~

Mr. Stark doesn’t come back for almost three days. And when he does--he comes back in King T’Challa’s plane, unconscious and bloody and the first time Peter sees him--wrapped up and stuffed in a bed in medical, not far from Mr. Rhodey--he thinks Ironman is dead.

Then Mr. Stark takes a shuddering breath and he whines, shifting in his sleep and some of that fear, that bone numbing terror loosens enough that Peter can move closer.

He wonders, absently, if Mr. Rhodey knows he’s back, and what will happen, now.

Mostly though--he watches Mr. Stark sleep.

His face is a giant bruise, and his arm is in a heavier sling than he left here in. There’s bandaging around his chest, right over the arc reactor.

He looks like hell, so close to death Peter doesn’t think he can really be blamed for thinking he _was_ dead.

And it’s--this is what he hates about being a superhero.

It’s not the fighting or the  lying or the danger--it’s that all of that is stripped away. There’s no way to see _Ironman_ while standing next to this bed, and he’s beginning to think maybe that’s true of all the Avengers.

How do you idolize and look up to Captain America when you get into a brawl with him? How do you reconcile the childhood hero worship with the people who are human and broken and bleed, who do things that are too hard for Peter to understand.

He knows heroes are human—he is one. He knows how much they bleed and how much they get wrong. But until Mr. Stark stood in his bedroom with his wide tired eyes and sharp tongue, asking a _kid_ for help, he’d still thought—maybe they were different. Maybe he was the only one that was still figuring things out.

Maybe the Avengers had their shit together.

He stares at Mr. Stark in the hospital bed and huffs to himself.

Because that’s obviously so far from true he can barely reconcile the two thoughts.

~*~

“Now what?” Rhodey asks him, when he finds Peter sitting next to Tony’s bed. The kid has that look on his face that Rhodey is beginning to understand means he’s thinking, and he’s figured out that Peter thinking can be dangerous.

The boy blinks up at him, all pale and big eyes and Rhodey wonders again what the _hell_ Tony had been thinking.

“What do you mean, Mr. Rhodey?” he asks, innocently, too young to be here.

“He’s back,” Rhodey points out, nodding at his best friend and refusing to think about how beat to hell he actually looks.

It makes him want to hunt down Steve Rogers and beat the shit out of him, and that will solve exactly nothing. “So what are you going to do now?”

Peter is quiet for a long time, and then, “Captain America did this.”

Rhodey’s jaw clenches. A concussion. Five broken ribs. A crack in his jaw and hairline fracture in his shoulder and left wrist. More bruises and abrasions than warranted counting. And fucking hypothermia. He shivers, thinking about T’Challa’s words, about finding Tony bleeding and shivering in the snow, alone—they _left_ him there, wounded and alone, and if T’Challa hadn’t been there—

Rhodey shoves that thought aside because Tony is _here_ , he’s _alive._

“Yeah, kid. Cap and the Winter Soldier.”

“But Captain America is an Avenger. He’s a _friend.”_

Rhodey sighs and looks down at Tony, tired and sad all at once. “Tony doesn’t have much, in the way of friends,” he admits.

Peter shifts, and his voice firms a little. It makes Rhodey look at him, at the shining promise in his young eyes. “He has _me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I think I know what's happening in this fic, and I should just say--go ahead and settle in for a long ride. This is gonna take a while. I hope you enjoy it though!! <3


	4. Chapter 4

He’s a little surprised he wakes up.

After the fight with Cap, he didn’t think he’d open his eyes again. A small, treacherous voice whispers that he wishes he hadn’t.

That he had been left to freeze, alone and broken in the cold of Siberia.

He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

“FRIDAY,” he mumbles, blinking.

“Welcome back, boss,” she says, softer than normal and he feels a pang. His AI’s are always there, steady and snarky and comforting when he needs them. Even if the people in his life can’t be counted on--there is that.

“What’s happening?”

“Dr. Cho is caring for you and Colonel Rhodes. Secretary Ross is on site, as well sir. He wishes to see you.”

Tony snorts, but ignores that. “What’s Rhodey’s condition?”

“The Colonel is healing from surgery, and has expressed his desire to be removed from medical.”

“I bet he has. Send his chart to my pad, will ya?”

He doesn’t get the reprimand for working that he expects, and he thinks maybe FRIDAY is as worried about Rhodey as he is.

He needs to ask about Captain America and his Winter Soldier.

He needs to go meet with Ross and check on Rhodey and--

“FRIDAY, can you hold off on telling them I’m awake?” he asks, his voice cracking.

“Sure thing, boss,” she chirps and the room goes dim again.

He closes his eyes and breathes.

People leave him. That’s what they do--that’s what they’ve been doing since he was a kid.

He doesn’t know why it hurts so much that Steve left.

He doesn’t know why _that_ betrayal stings the way nothing has since his mother died.

Tony curls in his blankets shivering as the heater over the bed turns on, warm air blowing gently down on him and closes his eyes.

It doesn’t help. He can still see the cold fury in Steve’s eyes, can still see his death in those familiar eyes.

It’s ok.

It’s ok.

Tony is used to people hurting him and leaving.

It’s ok.

He doesn’t believe it, but he thinks maybe if he repeats it often enough, he will. Worth a try--not like there’s anything else to do now, in a compound that’s far too empty, with only the shattered remains of his family left around him.

It’s ok.

 

~*~

 

When he wakes up again, Rhodey is in the bed next to his, head tipped toward Tony, eyes bright and worried.

“Hey boo bear,” he says, weakly, forcing a smile. “You miss me?”

“You’re an idiot, you know that, right? What the hell were you thinking, going after them alone.”

“Someone had to,” Tony says, tiredly.

“Not you. Not like that. Jesus, Tones--”

“There was no one else,” Tony snaps. _Gone gone gone, they’re all gone._ “Who would have gone, Rhodey? Nat can’t. Clint’s gone. Vision is a mess. You--” he bit off, shaking his head. “There _was_ no one else.”

Rhodey looks at him, his eyes sad and Tony hates him for that look. For the way it’s almost pity.

“What did I miss? I haven’t been able to get any information except Ross is pissed.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows furrow, like he’s not pleased with the way Tony is changing the subject, ducking away from the real problem--but he lets it happen anyway.

“He’s here, and he’s pissed. You’re on his shit list because Nat slipped away, and he wants to know who your Underroos is.”

Tony jerks a little, remembering Peter in a rush. “Shit, is the kid--”

“Safe. Pepper said he was your intern and Ross hasn’t questioned it. He’s been in my room most of the time you’ve been gone, and Ross isn’t paying me much attention.”

“He’s still _here?”_ Tony almost shouts.

Rhodey arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “I’m not exactly in the position to run the kid off, Tones.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue, but the door creaks open at the same time, and Peter slips in.

He can’t help checking him over. The fight at the airport had been so much _more_ than Tony expected, so much more than he’d wanted to get the kid involved in, but he’s standing here now, rocking on his heels anxiously, and he looks—

Fine.

Skin pale and a little gaunt, but Tony thinks that’s probably just from camping out in a hospital for the better part of a week. He gives Tony a smile, small but bright, and takes a tentative step toward the bed. “Mr. Stark—”

“What are you doing here?” Tony demands, sharply.

It jerks Peter to a halt, and pulls Rhodey’s head around. He can _feel_ his best friend staring at him, the disbelief and disappointment in his dark eyes, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on it. “I thought I sent you home. I _specifically_ remember telling you to go home.”

Peter bites his lip, and dips his head down, twitching from one foot to the other, and Rhodey huffs. “Kid, you—”

“I didn’t want to leave you alone!” Peter bursts out, cheeks red. “You were _hurt_ and—and—Mr. Stark, you _left_ and I—I—”

“Kid,” Rhodey says, pained. “You’re not here to protect us.”

Peter makes a face. “Aren’t I? Isn’t that why you had me come help you fight, Mr. Stark?”

Tony keeps his face blank, refusing to blink in the face of this _child’s_ petulant questions.

Even if he’s right.

“FRIDAY, get Happy. Time to go home, kid.”

Peter’s lips compress, into a thin, angry line, and he glares out the window as Happy enters the room. Tony nods at him. “Get him home.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Happy says, voice dry. Tony ignores him, focuses on the kid who is still glaring.

There’s tears on his cheeks now, and it makes Tony’s stomach lurch, uncomfortably.

He didn’t— _no_. This is for the best. The kid needs to go _home._

“You brought me into this,” Peter says, and Tony nods.

“And now I’m kicking you out,” he says, cruelly.

Peter’s eyes harden, and he doesn’t bother saying anything else, just stalks out with Happy trailing him.

“Tony,” Rhodey starts, voice tight with disapproval.

He doesn’t listen. It doesn’t _matter._ Peter is gone. Peter is gone, and Ross—Ross hasn’t come demanding answers, hasn’t looked too close at a _kid_ that Tony put in his crosshairs.

He closes his eyes and waits for his heartbeat to steady.

Peter is gone.

_It’s ok._


	5. Chapter 5

Happy doesn't talk driving him home and Peter doesn't push to. He doesn't think he _can_ talk through his tears.  

It isn't like he expected--well. Maybe it is. He was welcomed in, _invited_ in and to be dismissed so abruptly and cruelly--he hadn’t expected that.

He hadn’t expected Mr. Stark to be so _angry._ He hadn’t expected to be thrown away, when he wasn’t needed any more.

He’s being _stupid._ He had this idea—that he could help.

That Mr. Stark could need him. That with the other Avengers gone, there might be a hole Peter could fill.

He rolls his eyes against the stinging stupidity, and furiously scrubs away his tears, and ignores the curious, almost guilty look from Happy as he drives.

When they pull up to the apartment, Happy lets Peter out and puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Look, kid. Tony wanted you to have my number.”

Peter sniffles and frowns. “Why?”

Happy gives him a frustrated look and Peter perks up a little. “Really? Cause, I didn’t—”

“ _Kid!”_ Happy says sharply and Peter’s mouth clacks shut, nodding rapidly as he digs his phone out and shoves it at the older man.

“Now—don’t. Don’t _call_ me. Just, make sure you check in and let us know how you’re doing with you…” he waves vaguely. “Stuff.”

Peter blinks at him and Happy frowns, deeply, like Peter’s entire existence is making him reconsider his life, before he sighs and turns away. “Take care of yourself, Parker.  Keep your head down and take care of yourself.”

~*~

Aunt May is laying on the couch reading when he comes in, and she sits up, tugging off her glasses and staring at him. “Peter,” she says, and her voice is cracked and _hurt_.

He trembles in place for a moment, not sure if he wants to move forward or back, and then her arms open and there isn’t anywhere else to go but there, this safe space.

For so long, it was only him and Ben and May, a tiny unorthodox family, and then Ben was ripped away from them, and it was just two.

Two people and a mountain of secrets and grief. He falls into her, and he isn’t sure how she always makes him feel small, like that little boy whose parents had died, but she does—she tucks him under her chin and hums softly and pets his hair.

“You’re ok,” she promises, and he doesn’t think it’s true, really, but here, with the world held at bay by his mother’s arms—he thinks he might be.

He think he could be.

There are secrets. So many, so heavy and he’s so _tired_ of keeping them. His eyes are burning and his mouth feels thick and full with them.

“Peter, baby, you’re scaring me,” she murmurs, her voice even and smooth. He wonders sometimes when she cries. He has enhanced senses, he should _hear_ her, but he never does—her eyes are sad, sometimes, her smile forced and thin—but she never breaks where he can see it.

He thinks that must be a parent thing.

“I have to tell you something,” he says, at last, and she nods, sitting back as he takes a deep breath.

“Mr. Stark wasn’t here for an grant or an internship,” he says, and May’s eyes narrow. “He was here because he’s Ironman.”

“Everyone knows that,” May says, dismissive, and then her eyes narrow and her lips tighten. “What does that have to do with you?”

Peter straightens his shoulders, and he feels like a little boy and ancient, and so so scared.

“I’m Spider-man.”

~*~

May gets them Chinese, and she’s quiet, as Peter explains, the spider bite and patrolling, Germany and the Avengers fighting, Rhodey and Mr. Stark. He tells her everything, words pouring out like a torrent and it feels intoxicatingly good, to say it, to not have to hide this. There are times when her lips tighten and her heartbeat goes quick and anxious, and he hates himself for that. But she listens and doesn’t say anything until he runs out of words, slumps over his plate of noodles and spicy beef, and then—only then—does she says, “Will you be safer, in the new suit?”

He blinks. “You’re not mad?”

May laughs, a little, shaky and edged in hysteria. “I’m terrified, Pete. But you’re Ben’s boy—and you think what you’re doing is right. You won’t stop, just because I don’t like it. So—are you safe?”

He nods, his mouth dry and his heart pounding and she rubs her hands together, almost like she’s satisfied, like that’s all that matters.

“We’re going to have rules,” she warns and he nods, rapidly.

“Of course, anything.”

“And I want to talk to Mr. Stark.”

Peter pauses, and her eyes narrow at him. “Problem?”

“He—he sent me away, Aunt May. He doesn’t want me around the compound or the team.”

“Sounds like there isn’t much of a team left,” she says quietly and Peter shrugs. Nods because it’s true.

“I just—he’s alone, it’s just him and Mr. Rhodey and Vision and he looked so _lonely_. And Rhodey can’t even walk, he won’t be able to help Mr. Stark, if he needs it—I just want to help. I don’t—” he breaks off, his voice cracking and rubs at his eyes.

He’s so tired. And Mr. Stark’s cold eyes are there, every time he closes his own. “I just want to help him,” he says, small and defeated.

May’s hand closes over his, laces their fingers together the way she has since he was a baby. “Then help him. You don’t have to wait for his permission to be his friend, sweetie. At the very least, don’t let him forget the offer is there.”

He looks at her and she smiles. “He’s a genius, right? So he’s far too smart to overlook someone as wonderful as you.”

Peter laughs, and it’s wet, and thick, but real. “You’re biased.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

~*~

When he finally crawls in bed, his whole body aches, but he feels lighter. Lighter than he has since before the bite, secure in the knowledge that he isn’t lying to May.

And it’s that lightness that makes him pick up his phone and text, quick and thoughtless.

 _Peter P:_ I know he doesn’t want my help. But I’m not going away. I’m still going to help him. Tell Mr. Stark that.

He doesn’t expect a response. But a few minutes later, the phone buzzes in his hand and a text from a new number pops up.

 _Unknown number:_ You don’t take no very well, do you? Reminds me of someone I know. Fine. Rhodey is sulking because I was mean. Come to the compound this weekend—we’ll talk.

Peter’s heart jerks, hard and fast in his chest and he stares at the ceiling for a long time, a tiny smile that feels painful and real, on his lips, before sleep claims him.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! As you can see we're gonna be taking a trip away from canon here.


	6. Chapter 6

Rhodey does disapproval almost as well as Pepper does. He’s downright unbearable to live with, and Tony barely makes it through an hour before he’s turning to the older man.

He was sixteen when he met Rhodey at MIT, and seventeen when he saw that look of disappointment in his friend’s eyes for the first time.

He hated it then, and he hates it now.

“What do you think will happen if I let him stay?” Tony asks, his voice low, because Ross is in the goddamn compound and he can’t shake that unspoken threat. “Because he’s a masked vigilante, according to the Accords, and if you think Ross will look the other way because he’s a _kid?_ You’re not that stupid, platypus.”

“I’m not stupid enough to think you pushing people away is for their own good,” Rhodey shoots back, and Tony bites back on his curse.

“Deal with Ross. And then fix this. That kid--” Rhodey breaks off, and Tony stares at him.

“Got under your skin, didn't he?” Tony asks and Rhodey gives him a frustrated look.

Tony gets it. There's a goodness about Peter that he can't help but want to protect and nurture. It's impossible to miss, and even harder to resist. Rhodey never stood a chance.

The door swings open, cutting the moment, and ushering in Secretary Ross.

Tony straightens a little, his expression going haughty and amused, and shoving all thoughts of Peter as far down as possible.

“You lied to me,” he says, and Tony gives him a innocent smile.

“I lie a lot, Ross. Gonna need you to be more specific.”

“They told you something, on the Raft. And you _lied_ about it.”

Tony stares back, the edges of a dangerous smile turning his lips. “Does your footage support that, Mr. Secretary? Because it’s a pretty wild accusation. I followed a hunch, not intel.”

“A _hunch?”_

“Rogers has been my teammate for years, Ross. I know how he thinks,” Tony says, lightly, like the betrayal isn’t sitting heavy and sharp in his bones, cutting with every word and breath he takes.

Ross stares at him, so shocked he’s wordless for a long time, before he says, softly, “If I find out you’re lying—if I find the evidence I need—you’ll be in one of those cells, Stark. Not even your name and money will protect you.”

“If you find it, you’re welcome to throw me off the damn Raft,” Tony says brightly.

Ross snorts, and draws himself, visibly reaching for his dignity. “Where is your spider? I want his name on the Accords.”

“Nat? She left—you want her, I wish you all the best.”

“Not—Spider-man, Stark. Where is he?”

“I don’t know Spider-man,” Tony says blandly.

“You expect me to believe that you and Rogers had a brawl in Germany that a masked vigilante from _New York_ just showed up to? Without your intervention?”

“I don’t care what you believe. I don’t have Spider-man here, and I don’t know where the hell you could find him. So you can take your Accords and run the streets of New York or the skies of Germany or shove them—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Rhodey shouts, alarmed, cutting through Tony’s tirade. “How ‘bout—if we run into him, we’ll let him know you want his signature. That’s all we can give you about a guy we don’t know, Mr. Secretary.”

Ross is red-faced and furious, but Tony’s got that stubborn set to his mouth, the one that says he isn’t backing down, and he huffs. “Tell him he signs or we’ll find a cell for him too. You people don’t get to play by your own special playbook anymore, Stark.”

“Ok, good talk, do you wanna let the injured recover now?” Tony snaps, and Ross glares. He huffs a little, but retreats when the nurse comes in, sliding out with a smarmy smile and well wishes that ring hollow in the light of his words.

“Fucking politicians,” Ton grumbles, shifting. He wants out of the damn bed, wants out of the med wing—he wants, irrationally, since he just sent Peter away, to see the kid, wants him close where he knows he’s safe, where he knows Ross can’t touch him.

Which is exactly why he can’t be here.

“You can’t leave him out there alone,” Rhodey says, after the nurse vanishes, and Tony rolls his head to look at the older man.

The friend he’s built so much of his life on—Rhodey is his rock, and he thinks that’s why he’s so fucking shaken right now—his foundation is cracked and broken, and he feels himself trembling, ready to fall.

It occurs to him that he’s too dependent on Rhodey—something Pepper always said, and he always dismissed. Huh.

“I’m not going to,” Tony says. He tosses the phone to Rhodey, the text to Peter clearly visible. “I’m just keeping him away until Ross is off the board.”

Some of the tension leaks from Rhodey’s stiff shoulders, and he scowls. “You couldn’t have just told us that?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Kid has a hero complex bigger than Rogers,” he says lightly. “He’d never go if he thought it was for his own good.”

Rhodey laughs, lightly, and it’s soothing—he thinks, if he can keep Rhodey laughing and Peter safe, maybe they’ll get through this shit storm.

He thinks—if he has them, maybe he doesn’t need the Avengers Steve took with him.

Maybe he just needs this—his past and foundation, and his future and hope.

It’s too much to put on either of them—Tony knows damn well that it is.

It doesn’t mean he’s going to stop.

 


	7. Chapter 7

By the time the weekend rolled around the warm feeling of contentment that Tony’s text had prompted had faded, and all that was left was worry and apprehension.

He sent Peter away, and even if he wants to fix it—that sharp bite of rejection hasn’t faded, and he isn’t sure what to expect from this. If it’ll be the Mr. Stark who needed his help, or the Iron Man who shoved him out of the hospital, or the  _call me Tony, kid_  one who said, come back and let’s talk.

It’s nerve wracking, and Happy is quiet as they drive, not offering any help to settle his rapidly mounting nerves.

May texts as they reach the compound and he reads it, her quiet reassurance settling his anxiety enough that his hands aren’t shaking when he emerges from the car.

“Boss is inside,” Happy says, and thrusts a badge at Peter. “You’ll need that to access his residential wing.”

Peter fumbles for it, and then scrambles to follow Happy. “FRIDAY will get you to him. Go on, kid, Tony doesn’t like being kept waiting.”

Peter flushes, and the voice overhead comes through the hall, calm and cool, “Boss is in the lab, Mr. Parker. Please follow the floor.”

“Oh, um—you can call me Peter?”

“Of course, Peter,” she says pleasantly and he flushes, following the glowing floor until he comes to a door that pops open a before he can reach for it.

Tony Stark emerges from behind it, a smile Peter can’t read on his face. “You’re here!” he almost shouts, and pulls Peter into the room behind him.

His breath catches and his eyes go wide, looking around. The lab is—it’s even better than Peter thought it might be, all wide open spaces, half-finished projects scattered around. There’s three wide work tables with a full chemist set on them and his fingers itch to go explore, before his eyes snag on a suit—

“Is that—”

“Hmm?” Tony hums, and twists, peering at the half-finished suit. “Oh. That’s the IronSpider suit. It’s a bit more…durable…than what you’ve got now. It should be done, but everything’s been on hold while I worked on Rhodey’s new legs.”

He jerks around, his excitement forgotten abruptly because, “How is he?”

Tony blinks at him, and his expression softens into something warm and fond. “He’s ok. Annoying the hell outta his doctors, which is usually a good sign. He’s ready to fly again, which isn’t happening, not anytime soon.”

Peter peers at him, curiously, “Are you grounding him?”

“Until he can use his new legs, yeah.”

Peter looks at it, the braces coming together on the workbench, and makes an abortive move

toward them before glancing at Tony, unsure of his welcome.

The older man is watching him, all curious and patient. “You can look,” he says, and Peter gives him a shy smile, tucking his hands behind him and stepping closer.

“They aren’t prosthesis,” he says, and Tony makes a quiet noise of affirmation.

“Braces? You think that’s—well, but he can fly  in them. You’ll interface them with War Machine. And prosthesis aren’t an option,” he runs a light finger over the brace—it’s strong, but light, something that wouldn’t weigh down the suit, he wonders briefly _what_ before he glances up at Tony—“because he still has his legs.”

Tony’s look has shifted, something startled and open in it, something he hasn’t seen before and Peter flushes suddenly, aware he’s rambling, in front of Tony _Stark_ of all people. “Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “I didn’t—I’m just—”

“No, kid, I don’t—no one else got it. The doctors, they didn’t follow when I said braces could give him back his mobility.”

“What does Colonel Rhodes think?” Peter asks, curious despite the annoyance that the doctors apparently have no faith in Tony.

“Wanna ask him?”

 

~*~

 

The kid follows after him like a particularly eager puppy, his eyes big and searching as Tony leads him through the Compound. At some point—soon, Tony thinks, knows he has to pitch it right to this kid, or he’ll vanish back into the streets of Queens—he’ll have to give him a proper tour, but it’ll wait for now.

Rhodey’s been moved out of the medwing, if only because Cho kicked him out for her own sanity. She’s been doing some minor medical miracle to his legs that makes him itchy and restless, and promises he’ll be ready to test his braces by the end of the month.

Tony raps on his door and pushes it open without waiting for Rhodey’s response. They’ve both been waiting for the kid, and Rhodey has the bed sitting up, his eyes expectant and impatient.

“Hi, Colonel Rhodes,” Peter chirps, giving a tiny wave that makes Tony’s heart twitch painfully.

This kid—he’s too adorable for words.

“What’d I tell you about that?” Rhodey scolds and Peter flushes, dips his head shyly and smiles at him, a wide sweet smile that’s more honest than anything he’s given Tony.

It annoys Tony, for reasons he can’t quite pinpoint. He _wants_ Peter to get along with Rhodey. He shakes off the strange feeling and nudges the boy closer to the bed. “Underroos likes your new legs, honeybear.”

“Have you seen them yet?” Peter asks brightly.

“ _Someone,”_ he sends a mock glare at Tony who smiles back, all smarm and innocence, “won’t let me see them until they’re finished. You can fill me in.”

Peter grins and nods, and Tony thinks—just for a moment—about arguing. But they’re both here, and safe, and happy.

He sighs, and lets them have it.

 

~*~

 

It’s later—much later, over alfredo that Tony isn’t sure _how_ the kid managed to cook, although Peter promised he’d show him—that Tony tells him.

“I know you’re good at your thing. I know you like doing it alone—but I can help you.”

Peter licks his lips and his brows furrow. “What do—Mr. Stark, you don’t have to—”

“Kid, you stepped in and saved my ass when I had no right to ask that from you. The _very_ least I can do is help you, give your tech an upgrade.”

“But that’s not what this is about,” Peter says, softly, frowning into his empty plate of noodles.

“What _what_ is about?”

“This,” Peter gestures, vaguely, at the compound and Tony and himself. “Me. Being here. It wasn’t—I didn’t come for you to give me something.”

Tony opens his mouth. Closes it again.

“I just—I want to help, if I can. But I want—” Peter flushes, takes a deliberate breath and forces himself to say it, “I want to be your friend, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s breath catches and Peter looks at him, hesitant and earnest. “You have all the tech you could need. You have Mr. Rhodes, when he’s better. You don’t _need_ me to be a superhero. But you maybe need a friend. And I’ll do that—I’ll be an Avenger, if that’s what you want? But I—I didn’t come here for what you could give me.”

Tony doesn’t answer, and Peter stands, carrying their plates to the sink while Tony works through that.

Because—it’s not normal. He’s Tony fucking _Stark._ Everyone has wanted something from him since the day he was born. Even Pepper wanted something, and maybe she’s close enough to the top now that she doesn’t need anything from him—but so much of it was what he gave her. SHIELD and the Avengers wanted him for his suit, for his tech, for his endless resources. Every person who tumbled into his bed has expected something more than just a good lay and orgasm—even those who just came for a story to sell.

The only person who didn’t want anything from him was Rhodey.

But this isn’t even that—this is…

This is Peter. Staring with eyes that are wide and hopeful and worried, and _offering_ so much of himself.

This kid, Tony thinks, in a moment of blinding clarity, this kid will destroy him.

He thinks—Peter might just save him, too.

 


	8. Chapter 8

It’s late and his eyes are aching and sore when FRIDAY interrupts him. “Boss, Peter is in the suit.”

Tony frowns. He doesn’t usually get notified, but there’s a protocol in place, lets him know if Peter goes out too late.

He glances at the clock, and his frown deepens. Two am is far too late for little spiders to be spinning webs.

“He ok?” Tony asks.

“Karen says he’s fine and his vitals are all reading normal. She thinks—he couldn’t sleep.”

He makes a mental note to look into the AI’s gossiping, but then pushes it aside and steps into a suit. “Gimme a location, Fri.”

“Got it, boss,” she chirps, and he goes to find his wayward Spider.

~*~

He finds Peter sitting on a rooftop. There are three men webbed in the alley below him and Peter looks impatient as he waits on the roof.

“What’d they do?” Tony asks and to his credit, Peter doesn’t even flinch.

“Mugging a couple leaving the club,” he says. “The cops are taking forever tonight.”

He sounds tired, even muffled and distorted by his suit. “How’d you know where I was?”

Tony arches an eyebrow, gives the kid a look that makes his shoulders droop. “Our best girls apparently gossip,” he says, simply and Peter huffs.

“Dammit, Karen,” he whines.

Flashing blue appears in the streets below them and Tony straightens. “That’s our cue, kiddo. You going home?”

Peter shakes his head and that drags Tony to a standstill, a frown on his lips. “What’s going on, Pete?”

“Nothing, Mr. Stark—just not quite ready for sleep?”

“It’s almost three in the morning.”

Peter is quiet and Tony huffs. “Come on, let’s go.”

Peter doesn’t argue—and isn’t that a novel experience, someone who does what he’s told. Tony pushes that thought aside and leads Peter back to the Tower, letting the boy web onto him for the last bit.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, anxiously and Tony opens up the suit, steps out and cracks his neck. “What—”

“You can’t patrol all night, Pete. I don’t know what you’re running from—but you need to face it.”

Peter shifts, his face bright red, and Tony turns away. Leads them into the kitchen and busies himself making hot chocolate. After a few minutes of watching Tony, Peter huffs and carefully nudges him out of the way, taking over. He dumps the burnt milk and starts a new pot, breaking up expensive chocolate and stirring it together, slowly.

“You’re good at that,” Tony says. “Cooking.”

Peter shrugs. “You tasted Aunt May’s baking. I kinda had to be, or we’d never eat anything but takeout.” A tiny frown tilts his lips down. “Ben was the cook. He—he liked it, and he used to try to teach me. He said May was hopeless, but I didn’t have to be.”

Tony opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

He remembers too clearly how useless  _ I’m sorry _ was, after his parents died.

Peter pours two cups of hot chocolate and sprinkles chili powder Tony didn’t know he owned over the top of it, before sliding it across the counter to him.

They’re quiet, almost through the mugs before Peter says, “Sometimes, sleep is hard.”

Tony is quiet.

“I just—there are bad dreams? And even when there aren’t—I can’t always sleep.”

“Why?”

“Because what if someone gets hurt, while I’m sleeping? What if Aunt May gets hurt on her way home, or someone robs the bodega down the street or a girl gets raped, and I’m  _ sleeping  _ through it.”

Tony’s heart squeezes, hard, “Kid,” he breathes.

“I can’t—I try? And sometimes it’s easy—I’m too tired to think about everything that could go wrong while I’m sleeping. But sometimes—it’s hard,” he says, voice trailing away into nothing.

“You don’t have to save the whole world, Pete,” Tony says, and Peter slides a look at him, curiously.

“You did,” he says, like it’s simple.

It’s not.

There was nothing simple about New York, and there was nothing simple about Sokovia.

“Were you in the city, when the Chitauri attacked?”

Peter blinks, but he straightens up a little, tilting toward Tony and nodding.

“The whole time we fought—all I could think about was, there’s someone getting hurt down the street. It didn’t matter that I was fighting an alien, or saved a bus full of people—someone else was being hurt. I couldn’t save anyone. And then—there was a nuke and it was headed right for us, and I  _ had _ to, and I  _ could. _ ”

“You could have died,” Peter whispers.

Tony nods. He can still feel the cold, the icy embrace of space, trickling down his spine. “I could have. I thought I would. But—I had this chance, this one chance, to save the whole city. And I had to take it. So I did.”

“I watched you fall out of the wormhole,” Peter confesses. “I had nightmares about that for weeks, after.”

“I did too,” Tony says, gently and Peter startles, blinks at him. His eyes are wide and wet and hurt, and Tony  _ hates _ that, hates that this boy can looks so fragile. He wants to protect him, wants to strip away that suit and keep him safe, keep him  _ normal. _

But Peter  _ isn’t _ and he can’t take away that part of him. Even if he tried—Peter would never accept that.

He was too damn selfless. “I had nightmares for months, and panic attacks. I built suits—god so many fucking suits, Peter. I was terrified, and I didn’t let anyone help me.”

“Mr Rhodey would have—” Pete says, indignant, and Tony smiles.

“He tried. He wanted to. Rhodey has always wanted to help me, and always has, when I let him. But part of it—you have to let them,” Tony says, gently.

Peter slumps, and Tony goes quiet, patient. Waiting.

“I—I don’t want to worry Aunt May,” he whispers. “She knows, now, and it’s good. Not lying to her is so good. But on nights like tonight, when the world gets too loud—I don’t want to worry her. She worries so much.”

He’s quiet, careful. Considering. Then, “Make a deal with me.”

Peter licks his lips and stares at Tony, bright eyed and innocent. “On nights when it’s too loud and you need to go out—call me. Don’t tell May if you think that’s best. But let me be there for you.”

“What do I get?” Peter asks and Tony’s eyebrows go up. “Deals mean I get something too, Mr. Stark. What do I get?”

Sneaky little shit, Tony thinks, amused and fond.

“Fine. I’ll do the same—I call on nightmare nights.”

Peter considers it. “Might just mean neither of us ever sleeps.”

“Maybe,” Tony concedes. “But it means we’re not facing our demons alone.”

Peter smiles, and nods. “Deal.”

Deal.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates once or twice a week.


End file.
